


Sunshine Boy

by vernesatlas



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: 1860s, 19th Century, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blakefield, M/M, Roommates, Slow Burn, blake tries to talk to scho but fails, cheery blake, college tom and will, enemies to friends to lovers ???? i guess, schofield being angry, schofield glowers a lot, tom blake a rich asshole, will schofield top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23184724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vernesatlas/pseuds/vernesatlas
Summary: In which Tom Blake and William Schofield are roommates in a college in Essex in the 19th century. Slow-burn. William Schofield being a jerk. Tom Blake being the babyest.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95





	1. Room 313

**Author's Note:**

  * For [george mackay's arms](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=george+mackay%27s+arms).



> This is the first time I'm writing a Blakefield fic, and I couldn't help myself because Blakefield is the best ship to have a slow-burn. Enjoy, and remember to watch Dean Charles Chapman sing Electricity in Billy Elliot.

Tom Blake had one goal for college: to get out of it as soon as possible

He was forced by his mother to go, after he got into another row with his father. He didn't care for education; he want to travel, to see the world and make his own name out in the world. Of course, his family would never let him go, so he prepared to go to college, graduate, and fly off to the other end of the world first thing.

He stepped through the archway and glanced at the building he was soon to live and study in.

He shuddered. _Study._

He made it into the entrance hall, and strolled to the registration office. 

"Hello," he said, flashing a smile to the stony faced secretary. "Thomas Blake. Here for education and wisdom."

The secretary's frown turned even deeper.

_Oh, he was going to cause hell._

* * *

William Schofield glanced through the dusty glass of the library door and carefully pushed it open. 

There was almost no one there, only one or two students riffling through the shelves.

Will turned to the librarian. She was steadily dozing off at her table.

He walked towards the shelves, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He searched through the shelves and found a book he read before, but only vaguely remembered.

He found a quiet nook beside the windows and carefully settled down and started reading.

He was halfway through Chapter 19 when the doors banged open and a figure strolled in, whistling loudly. The librarian started and peered sleepily at the newcomer before dozing off again.

Will narrowed his eyes and peered through the shelves to catch a glance of the student, but could only see the back of a boy. He shook his head and returned to his book.

"How's it going mate? What you reading there huh?" he heard the boy's voice somewhere to his left. 

A low voice answered, and the boy laughed loudly. 

"Yeah, that's fair. Well, see you 'round Elliot, might borrow that book for a read."

Will looked up and rolled his eyes. _God help him._

He heard footsteps going his way. He turned to the wall and tried to make himself as invisible as possible.

"Hi there!" 

_Shit._

"Why are you reading to the wall?"

Will turned and faced the boy. He was shorter than Will for almost a head, his face round and cherubic. Dimples graced his cheeks and his brown hair fell messily to his forehead. 

"None of your business." Will snapped.

He didn't get the hint. He ambled closer to Will and titled his head, trying to see the cover of his book. Will angled the book away from him.

"What? You shy?" he grinned mischievously.

"No," Will said, determinedly reading the book in a wrong angle. "Just very annoyed."

"C'mon," he said, still grinning, "just trying to make small talk."

Will gave up and snapped his book shut.

"Look, what's your name—"

"Tom," he answered, but Will ploughed on.

"— I don't care if you're friendly or what, I just want to read my goddamn book, and you being here and asking me stupid questions just makes me want to punch you. So get out of the way or shut up."

Tom raised his eyebrows and held up his hands in a surrendering motion. "Relax, mate. Wasn't intruding or nothing."

Will wanted to say that he _was,_ in fact, intruding. But he said nothing and only glowered at him.

Tom, unbelievably, was still grinning ear to ear like he won a million pounds. 

Will fought the urge to knee him in the shins.

"I'll get out of your hair, then," he said, slowly retreating, an annoyingly satisfied grin on his face.

Will blew a strand of hair out of his face and went back to his book.

He hoped he would never see him again.

* * *

_Strung up as tight as my father,_ Tom thought of that boy as he exited the library.

Still, he couldn't help laughing at the expression on the other boy's face when he talked to him. Oh, he hoped he would see him again. He would drive him _mad._

Making his way to his dormitory, he let his mind wander to the boy. His features were sharp and somewhat delicate, his eyes strikingly blue, and though he looked pissed, it couldn't hide how his lips curved, how his cheeks blushed.

He shook his head. Of all the things, this is what he thinks about?

He walked across the lawn, watching the sky turn into shades of purple and pink as the sun slowly descended, his mind still drifting towards the boy. 

Walking up the stairs in his dorm hall, he fumbled for his key for a moment before remembering that he had put it in his trunk— which he had put in the dorm, moments before. 

_Great job, Tom._

He sighed and walked to dorm, Room 313, knocked and prayed that his roommate had arrived. 

The door swung open seconds after he knocked.

"Hello there, roomie—" Tom stopped mid-sentence when he saw that his roommate was none other than the boy from the library.

The boy groaned and retreated back into the room, sitting down to the bed to the left. He buried his head in his hands. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Uh, nope, don't think so," Tom said, ducking his head back to the hall to check the number on the door. "Pretty sure this is Room 313—"

"That wasn't a question," he snapped, raising his head to glower at Tom. Again. This guy seemed to be glowering every time he sees Tom.

"Well," Tom said, grinning. "You're stuck with me!"

The boy somehow couldn't look at him straight in the eyes. He stared up the ceiling and mouthed something that looked like "God help this idiot".

Tom cleared his throat. 

"We haven't been properly introduced, have we? You were shouting at me last time." Tom said, sauntering further into the room. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Thomas Blake. Tom, if you would."

The boy stared at his hand for a long time with a dubious glance. Then he sighed and finally shook his hand.

"I'm William Schofield."

Tom stared at him for a few seconds, a lopsided grin on his face.

"Can I call you Will—"

"No."


	2. Literature and Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. enjoy.  
> stan george mackay and dean charles chapman if you haven't already.

William Schofield stared out the windows of the library, the rain outside pattering softly against the glass.

Most students might decide to hole up in their dorm, but Will had no intention of going back to his room.

The first thing he did when he woke up was to leave, and when he slipped out the door, Tom was still snoring peacefully in his bed, closeted in blankets, locks of auburn hair falling softly across his face.

He had tried to avoid interaction with Tom as much as possible, never staying in the room when Tom was there, but for some reason, Tom had always managed to sneak in conversation in the short period of time they were together in the same vicinity.

He was, by far, the most talkative person Will had ever met.

Because of Tom's hyperactive personality, Will had to do his studies at late night, covered under his blanket, quietly writing his essays by gas lighting, occasionally spilling ink over his sheets and swearing.

Will bent over the book he was reading, Facundo, it was called, and though it was sort of a dull read, it was interesting in some parts and, in some parts, unbelievably lengthy.

He wished that essays were set for books of Ruskin or Irving, he might have even settled for Haggard.

Somehow, his mind once again drifted to Tom, and Will highly doubted that he had gotten any work done. Tom was always distracted, and had been spotted too many times in dancehalls and theatres.

_Concentrate, William._

He sighed and continued on.

* * *

Tom blearily opened his eyes and glanced around the dorm. Empty.

It has been like this for almost a week already. Every morning his roommate would quietly slip out the door at the crack of dawn, and Tom would wake up to an empty room. 

_As if he can't even stand the sight of me._

That thought alone was enough for Tom to jolt from his sleepiness, anger seeping in. He was trying to make conversation, just wanted to be a proper mate, but all he does is storm off every time he spoke.

He was still angry with William when he stormed into the Language campus moments later, heading to his first class of the day, Western Literature, and in the heat of his anger, entirely forgot to bring the essay he was supposed to hand in. 

Well, he didn't forget to bring it. He forgot to... do it. 

He ran a hand over his face, and briefly debated about running back to the dormitory and... and what would he do? He can't produce a thousand word essay out of thin air.

_Damn it all._

He pushed through the door to the classroom, greeting the teacher with a smile, and receiving a disapproving nod.

He slid in the benches right next to William, who, like usual, pretended that he did not existed. Normally Tom would try to strike up a conversation, but he was still too angry to speak to him.

Tom glanced over at William to see that he already had his commonplace book and his essay neatly set on the table. Ever the best student.

Tom slouched slightly as Professor Miller started droning on about Facundo, the book they were studying; or in Tom's case, should be studying.

"Now, this isn't typically regarded as a historical work, and to be truthful, this book isn't very valued as a historical work, though it might have been supposed to be written as a historical work, I think that we can all regard this book as a...?" 

William's hand shot up almost immediately.

"Mr. Schofield," Professor Miller called on him.

"Historical novel would be more fitting," William said, "though it might also be regarded as a biography or memoir of some sort."

Miller nodded and continued on, "Facundo is extremely difficult to classify as a specific genre, but there might be some argument whether it should be considered..."

Tom had zoned out after that, instead turning his head to stare out the windows, only to find himself staring at William's side profile.

He was bent over his commonpace book, eyebrows screwed in concentration, his brown hair falling over his ear. William blinked, and he saw how his eyelashes fluttered across his cheeks briefly when he closed it. Tom had never noticed another person's eyelashes, much less another man, and something about it mesmerized him.

"Mr.Blake!"

Tom started and jolted to attention, his hair ruffling as he straightened in his chair. "Yes, sir?"

"Did your father sent you here for education or to daydream?" Miller said.

"Er," Tom said, well-aware that the whole class was staring at him, including William, who seemed to have forgotten that he did not exist. "Both?"

The whole class snickered.

Tom saw William roll his eyes. Tom almost was tempted to flash him a dashing smile, just because he knows that he would have been extremely annoyed. But he stopped when he remembered that he was supposed to be mad with him.

Miller shook his head. "As I might recall, Mr. Blake, you haven't handed in your essay on Facundo yet."

"You recalled correctly, sir," Tom replied, "Impressive."

Few of the class stifled their laughter.

If it were other teachers, he might have earned a slap to the cheek and maybe some extra work. But Miller always had a soft spot for Tom, for reasons unknown.

Miller sighed and rubbed his temples like a tired uncle who had told off Tom too many times to think of a punishment.

"If you have trouble, you can find me after lessons," Miller said, regarding Tom over the top of his spectacles, "or maybe your peers. Schofield there is quite accomplished in this subject."

Tom couldn't resist the temptation this time. He turned to William and winked. William glowered.

"Grouchy much?" he whispered to William.

"Shut up much?" he whispered back, not even looking at Tom.

"No," Tom said with enough haughtiness to drive William mad. "I like talking, unlike you, and I like hearing myself speak."

"I don't," he shot back, scribbling in his notes.

"Ouch," Tom said, holding a hand to where his heart is, feigning hurt.

William stared stonily ahead.

"You know, it wouldn't hurt if you talked more and _glowered_ less."

"I don't glower."

"You do. You're literally doing it right now."

"Maybe if you leave I would stop glowering."

"Maybe if you actually made an effort to talk to me I won't be annoying you so much."

"I think you'll be annoying no matter what."

"Well," Tom said, leaning over to him as the lesson ended. "I'm sorry, but you're stuck with me for this whole damn year."

Then he gave a cheery smile and strode out of the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bonus facts/ random things:  
> -there's actually no proper literature classes in 19th century colleges but i thought it would be fun to set ch.2 in a literature lesson.  
> -i spent too much time researching about 1860s men fashion only to have it not included in this chapter.  
> -facundo, the book they're studying, is a real book. but i don't think it's a book 19th century colleges in britain would have taught. for one, it was in spanish, and it wan't translated into english until late 1860s. it's also extremely boring.  
> -"commonplace book" is just a fancy way of saying notebook in the 19th century.


	3. Daffodils and Theatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our favourite gays scho and blake goes outside to play and things gets very soft.  
> idk how to write this just read it bro

Tom was right.

William was stuck with him, and Tom seemed to emphasize this point by popping up everywhere. 

His plan to sneak out every morning was foiled by Tom waking up almost as early. Worst of all, Tom insisted in setting a waking up service every morning, the servants knocking on their door at five in the morning. Will, who still studied past midnight, couldn't wake up sooner than five and therefore failed to sneak out. And so every morning he would wake up to Tom's grinning face. 

Will gave up on avoiding him, once it proved to be futile to do so; he kept appearing everywhere, and though he was less talkative, he would often wear this annoyingly smug smile on his face. Will ignored him, and Tom didn't seem to mind as long as he don't shout at him. Hence they formed this silent agreement that everyday they would walk to their lessons together, neither of them speaking, but simply accompanying each other.

William had to grudgingly admit that Tom could be likeable if he wasn't talking so much, and that he was, somehow, charming in a excited-puppy kind of way. He was also, unbelievably optimistic and cheerful, and it was a wonder where his energy came from.

Tom, who had been forced to study with William in the library in exchange of Will not glowering at him, often spent the study periods sketching on his lined paper rather than studying. William didn't mind as long as he didn't talk too much.

The weather outside was beautiful, with white clouds stripping through the blue sky. Will didn't so much as glance outside; he was working hard on a Latin assignment he was supposed to hand in next week. Tom, who was, as usual, sketching on his lined papers, suddenly stopped and glanced out the window.

"It's a good day for a picnic."

Will scratched out his previous answer and consulted the Latin grammar book to check his answer. "Hmm," he replied distractedly. 

"We should go outside."

Will found the reference to his answer and quickly checked it against his notes. "Yeah," he said absently.

"Let's go," Tom gathered his papers and dumped them into his bookbag. 

Will finally looked up. "What? Now?"

"Yes," he said, a bright smile quickly illuminating his face. "Now."

"Oh," Will tried to find an excuse, "er-"

"C'mon," Tom said, sweeping Will's stuff into his bag and grabbing his arm.

Will was so surprised he didn't object as Tom pulled him to the exit.

"Um," Will said, aware that Tom was holding his arm, "where are we going?"

Tom didn't answer.

Will sighed.

As soon as they stepped out the building Tom broke into a jog, dragging Will along with him. They ran across the lawn, Tom's laughter drifting across the spring air to him. 

Will couldn't help but smile.

* * *

Tom jumped out the hansom cab and started out ahead, only pausing to shout over his shoulder, "Come on!"

Will jumped out the cab, paying the driver and heading out after him.

They had arrived at a field somewhere on the coast of Colchester, and a lake stretched out ahead.

Tom had stopped at the edge of the lake, and removed his coat to spread it on the bank. He sat on it and Will joined him.

For a while they don't say anything, only admiring how the sunlight drifted across the surface of the lake, glimmering like crystals. The field of daffodils waved serenely in the light breeze, and Tom stretched out a hand to touch the petals of one.

"So you meant it when you said to have a picnic," Will said, leaning back and settling his elbows behind him.

To his surprise, Tom didn't answer. No arrogant remark, no annoying retort. He just stared with a sort of pensive smile on his face, fingers still playing with the petals of the daffodil.

Will took the cue and was more than happy to settle into silence. 

For a while they only sit on the bank of the lake, the silence between them comfortable.

Then, when the sun had settled halfway across the skies, Tom took off his shoes, stood up and walked to the shallow bank of the lake and waded in, not bothering to roll up his pants. He reached down and fished out a small pebble from the lake and threw it across the lake. The pebble skipped twice, then submerged. 

Tom groaned in frustration, making Will smile. Tom turned and Will hid his smile, but he must have seen his expression, and he winked at him.

Will blushed.

Fortunately, Tom had turned to the lake again and threw another pebble across the lake. This time it skipped twice and managed a feeble flop before it submerged.

Will took off his shoes too, stood up and—wisely rolled up his pants first— waded in the lake too, grabbing a pebble and throwing it across the surface of the lake. It skipped thrice, to Tom's annoyance. He grabbed a pebble and tried to make it skip, but only succeeded in it flopping across the surface once. Will laughed, and in retaliation Tom splashed water at him.

Sopping wet, Will glared as Tom smiled cheekily—before breaking into a run as Will chased him across the field. Tom was still laughing when Will managed to tackle him.

For a second Will was on top of Tom, face inches apart. Then they quickly rolled away from each other as though scalded. For an instant they avoid looking at each other, then—they burst into laughter as they just realized how ridiculous they were.

As the sun slowly descended, they took their belongings and started walking to the town, Tom occasionally doing some stupid things (like untying his neck tie and doing a very poor impression of a wild west ranger by swinging it around).

"Hey," Tom nudged him as they arrived at the town. He pointed to a theatre in the town square. "You want to watch a play?"

"What's playing?" Will said, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

"Oedipus," Tom said, reading the large sign outside the theatre, "Oedipus Rex. Have you seen it?"

William shook his head.

Fifteen minutes later they sat down in the seats of the theatre, other theatre-goers shooting looks at Tom, whose pants haven't dried completely, and whose shoes were making odd squelching sounds. Tom, in true Tom-Blake fashion, grinned from ear to ear, either thinking they were staring at him admiringly, or were merely proud of his non-presentable fashion.

The curtains pulled back, and a hush fell over the crowd. 

The setting was in the palace, a crowd gathered around an altar. The actor as Oedipus walked in, and with a booming voice spoke.

"My children, latest born to Cadmus old,  
Why sit ye here as suppliants, in your hands  
Branches of olive filleted with wool?  
What means this reek of incense everywhere,  
And everywhere laments and litanies?"

* * *

They were nearing the end, and Tom had started to begin fidgeting. He checked his pocketwatch and saw that it was late, and turned to Will to ask whether they should leave, but saw that Will was staring, enraptured, at the play.

Tom settled back into his seat and tried to pay attention.

"My tale is quickly told and quickly heard.  
Our sovereign lady queen Jocasta's dead."

The chorus lamented,

"Alas, poor queen! how came she by her death?"

The messenger in the play replied,

"By her own hand. And all the horror of it,  
Not having seen, yet cannot comprehend..."

Tom heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Will tense up, his arms tensed as he gripped the sides of his chair.

The messenger continued his monologue,

"...then we beheld the woman hanging there,  
A running noose entwined about her neck.  
But when he saw her, with a maddened roar  
He loosed the cord; and when her wretched corpse  
Lay stretched on earth, what followed—O 'twas dread!"

The pupils of Will's eyes dilated as he stared at the play, a face of horror and dread on his face.

Tom reached over and grabbed his arm. He seemed to shake himself from a stupor, his face still stricken with fear. Tom whispered in his ear, "Let's go."

Will nodded, half-dazed, and they rose from their seats, stumbling across the narrow passageway, ignoring the filthy looks other people were shooting at them.

They made their way to the exit, Tom still holding on to Will's arm.

"Woe, lamentation, ruin, death, disgrace,  
All ills that can be named, all, all are theirs."

* * *

The walk back to their dorm was silent, Will still staring at the space in front of him, so that Tom had to hold on to his arm in order for him to walk properly without getting hit by a cab.

Tom didn't want to intrude, but he couldn't bear Will looking so horrified. 

"D-Do you want to talk...?" he asked quietly.

Will shook his head.

Tom, for once in his life, obliged and shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is so soft and kinda sad🥺  
> also major tom blake top content.  
> ik scho is more likely to top but tom blake top is kinda cute. and scho is so flustered.


	4. Moon and Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> scho is sad. blake tries to talk to him.  
> what happens?  
> they fuc-  
> what no too soon  
> oh right.

William did not talk to him for the next few days.

Tom tried, of course he did. He tried to corner him after lessons and whenever he saw him. But Will seemed to have opened a crack of a door—then suddenly slammed it shut again. Tom desperately tried to open it again, but it was locked and bolted shut.

William wasn't angry, he could see. He was in some kind of trauma, and he clearly didn't want to talk about it, shutting off everything.

Tom gave up trying to talk to him after a week of no avail. Will seemed to only show up for lessons, not even appearing in the library. The dorm continued to be empty every time Tom woke up, and when he turned in to sleep, Will was nowhere to be found.

Tom had reverted to his schedule before Will: drinking in dancehalls and excessive entertainment with no studying. Now that Will had given up talking, he had given up on him too.

If someone had asked Tom if he was happy, he would laugh and flash a smile. "You don't get to live a life like this again, do you?"

But in reality, Tom himself wasn't sure if he was happy.

When he met Will, it felt like something had fitted perfectly in an empty space he never saw before. And now that Will had shut himself off the space was empty once more, and Tom didn't know how to make it full again.

* * *

Will didn't know what he is doing these few days. 

It felt like he was living in a trance, the world moving so fast with him stuck in a beat slower than everything.

Tom tried to talk to him, but Will didn't know what to say. He didn't want to speak. 

He kept hoping something would pull him out of such a trance, but nothing helped. He spent his evenings drinking spirits stolen from the faculty's pantry, his mornings holed up in some unsuspecting corners of the school, staring at the space in front of him. He knew if Tom saw him like this he would riot, so he stayed out of the way and hoped Tom would drop his attempts to talk to him. 

Tom did give up, eventually, and Will didn't know if he was happy or sad about that. Maybe some part of him had wished that he would stay with him.

Will stared out the horizon and took a gulp of the spirits. He looked around and found that he was at the same lake he went with Tom. He couldn't recall coming here. He must have been too intoxicated to notice.

Will blinked blearily as the reflection of the moon rippled across the lake. He remembered how Tom had stood at the bank, looking back and winking. The breeze had been toying with his hair, the sunlight gleaming off his skin like it was gold. It had seemed like so long ago.

He finished the rest of the spirits and patted his pockets to find the other bottle he had nicked. But instead of the solid form of the bottle he could only find a thin, square piece of something that felt like paper.

Confused, Will fished it out, and found it to be the lined paper Tom uses for sketching, folded into a square. Will unfolded it. 

He finally knew what Tom was sketching all these time.

It was a likeness of Will himself, bent over papers, a pencil in his hand. He had captured how Will had looked when he was concentrating; eyebrows screwed together, hair falling across the front, eyelashes lowered. Under the sketch Tom had written something in his boyish handwriting. 

_I'll always listen._

_TB_

Will imagined his hands drifting over the paper, charcoal chalk in his hands as he sketched out the lines. 

Something in Will loosened, and he held the paper to his heart.

When the moon shone, Will finally could see clearly.

* * *

Tom felt a sharp jab to his ribs. 

"Tom."

He murmured sleepily, still clutching on to the last wisps of his dream.

Another jab.

He rolled over and lazily opened one eye. 

"Whosthere," he mumbled.

A blurry image of Will's profile loomed over him, his cheeks flushed pink, blue eyes bright.

Tom jolted awake. 

"Will," he said, sitting up and running a hand over his face.

"Sorry I woke you up," he said, looking discomfited as he perched awkwardly on the edge of Tom's bed. 

"No," Tom yawned, "it's fine."

Grinning, he asked Will, "So who burnt down the school?"

Will blinked.

"What?'

Tom laughed at his confused expression and stopped when he saw Will's face turned to an all too familiar unamused expression.

"So, what causes you to wake me up at 3 in the morning?"

A muscle in Will's face twitched, and he looked away as he answered.

"Well," he said, still not looking at Tom, "I saw your sketch."

"Oh."

Now it was Tom's turn to look embarrassed. He wasn't thinking clearly when he slipped the sketch into Will's coat pocket, and he condemned himself for being so foolishly emotional over such a thing.

"Um," Tom said, "d'you mind if you give it back to me? I don't know why I drew it, it's a- uhm, I wasn't, you know, saying that-"

Will smirked.

"I thought you wanted me to talk to you. That means it worked."

"But- ah, you shouldn't keep it. I mean, is it really _that_ good? It's awful, really. You should burn it."

Will's smirk grew even wider. 

"I don't think so, Blake."

Tom raised an eyebrow. 

"Why did you call me Blake? Do I have to call you Schofield now?"

"No," Will said exasperatedly, "that's not the point. Shut up for a moment now. I'm trying to talk."

Tom grinned and propped his head on his hand, annoying Will.

"So that time we went to see Oedipus, and I was- well, I looked like-"

"You've seen a ghost, yes," Tom interrupted.

Will nodded, eyes unfocused. "Well, it's because my mother. She- um, she died."

Tom didn't say anything. 

"She committed- uhm, hanged herself."

Will's voice was barely a whisper.

Tom pieced together the whole image. Oedipus' mother hanged herself in the story when she discovered she committed incest. Tom was sure that Will's mum didn't commit incest, but he can't really think of something worse which caused her to hang herself.

"Well," Tom said finally. "Do you want to talk more about it or do you...?"

Will shook his head. 

"I just wanted to tell you, that's all. I don't want to discuss it."

Tom nodded. "Ok. I won't bring it up again, then."

Will nodded, seemingly more cheerful. 

"Well," he sighed, suddenly reaching into his pocket and bringing out a bottle of spirits. 

Tom's eyes widened. 

"Where the hell did you get that?"

Will smirked. "Nicked it from the faculty pantry."

Tom shook his head in disbelief. "William Schofield, you are full of surprises."

Will smiled, his eyes twinkling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying to update everyday but im very distracted so  
> IM TRYING OKAY  
> thanks so much for the support tho ly guys


	5. small appreciation chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> appreciation chapter of a very talented artist

concept idea of how blake and scho looks like 

full credits to @piupiupaww on twitter, they drew this amazing art (also follow them on twitter they are so talented!!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINAL DISCLAIMER:  
> I DO NOT OWN THIS ART ALL CREDITS GO TO @piupiupaww GO FOLLOW THEM OK BYE


	6. Dancehalls and Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blake does stupid shit  
> scho gets worried  
> boyfriends content

The days spent after that encounter were spent blissfully. 

Tom and Will had become inseparable, though Will would never in a million years admit to it.

Will had forced Tom to study with him, breaking his habit of lavish entertainment. Tom would protest that he missed his glory days of inebriation in dancehalls, but in reality he did not miss them at all. 

In turn, Tom had forced Will to take a break from studying on the weekends. Will usually spent his weekends holed up in the library, poring over his notes and obsessing about new subject topics. Tom dragged him to the countryside, the beach, occasionally the theatre or museum. One time they had sneaked into a garden of one Lord Everton, who to this day still doesn't know two young men had spent an entire sunlit day in his garden.

When their first major assessment came, Will had intensively trained Tom as best he could, almost forcing Tom to study for over 8 hours. Will's temper grew short too, Tom noticed, and he was inevitably snapping at trivial things such as when a student dropped a sheaf of papers onto the floor. Tom had to drag a jaw-clenched, indignant Will away from the cowering student.

Their weekend trips were shortened too; Will would start glancing at his pocket watch after half an hour, eyebrows screwing closer and closer until it was almost a line.

Will had not reduced to shouting at Tom yet, he was glad to found, though he had indeed glowered much more. Tom was sure Will was close to shouting at him when he walked out of his Geography assessment, angry that he missed the unit to an answer.

Tom wasn't as picky as to get full marks. His requirement was to pass his assessment, but Will's expectations was to get top marks. He stayed at a distance when Will was fuming about an answer he wrote, or simply cracking under self-induced-pressure.

Tom was extremely glad when their assessments finally ended, mainly because Will no longer acted like a raging pit bull, and also because he didn't need to study or stare at the blank lines of the assessment papers again.

They sat at the library, Will's hands twitching out of habit when he saw the revision books stacked up on the shelves. But Tom banned Will from even glancing at a book, so Will only stared out a window, his eyes sometimes wandering to the shelves only to have Tom's face obscure his view. 

"C'mon," Tom said as Will peered at the books for the twenty-second time. "We don't need to worry about the marks or the assessment. Just loosen up, Will."

Will dramatically rested his head on the window pane, sighing like he was told not to chase after his life-long dream.

After a vicious battle of chess (Will had beaten Tom very soundly, causing Tom to curse extremely loudly) Tom had an idea to sneak into one of the dancehalls he (used to) regular, and to sneak some of the well aged gin kept there. After making the librarian keep an eye on Will to make sure he wouldn't start reading a book, Tom set off to the dancehall.

He made his way to the dancehall, ducking through a side entrance for fear of being recognised by the over eager ladies in the dancehall. He spotted the matron of the dancehall, and he waved her over, grinning.

"Blake, you naughty boy," she said, crossing her arms, "you haven't been here for so long! When are you coming back next time?"

"Not now," Blake said, forcing to keep his smile intact, even though the stench of the alcohol and the loud laughter gave him a migraine.

"I need a favour," he said, pressing several pounds into her hand, "two bottles of the best of your gin."

The matron stared at the dollars and looked up expectantly.

Tom fished out several more pounds and pushed it in her hand.

Satisfied, she ducked through a small door that leads to a cellar and came back, few minutes later, the two bottles of gin in her hands. She quickly passed them off to Blake, then made a shooing motion. 

"Come back soon," she chortle.

Tom weaved through the throng of intoxicated people, some grinning at him and slurring as their alcohol slopped over the sides of its bottles. Tom wanted to get away as soon as possible; he cringed as he thought what Will would think of him if he brought him to such a place.

Tom was nearing the exit, but he caught sight of two ladies heading in his direction, two over eager ladies who would get him in further trouble. He ducked behind a tapestry and held his breath. 

Then he heard voices, not those of the ladies, but of a haughty sounding male voice.

"-no point in trying, he's already the top of the whole school."

"Where d'you reckon he's from?" another male voice asked.

"Oh, I know," a third voice spoke, a smoother, _even_ haughtier voice.

The other men don't say anything; they are waiting for the haughtiest men to speak, and he seemed to draw a dramatic pause before speaking.

"William Schofield wasn't born poor, but he was very nearly so," 

Tom's stomach dropped.

The man continued. 

"His mother was a Duke's daughter, but ran off with his father, an almost penniless professor with nothing to offer but the promise of freedom. She gave birth to him, a shy child who liked books and disliked the interests he was offered. His father cared about his experiments more than his family. There were arguments, and when he broke too many promises he couldn't keep she snapped. Her body, hanging from the rafters, the son crying with no one to comfort him."

Tom shut his eyes, but he could not stop himself from hearing the words spoken.

"A disreputable son with a mad father and no mother, nothing to him. No name, no reputation, a simple boy with the few knowledge he'd read from books. There is nothing to him, absolutely nothing. No talent, no shine, no nothing at all." The man's voice seethed now, he was indignant. 

"What is him compared to us? We are the top of the top, we have the wealth, the power and the talent. He is a plain boy, useless and dispensable, and we are worth more than hundreds of him. And that Blake boy, hanging with him, like he was part of _our_ lot. Like rolling around in mud, I reckon. Contaminating him. Pity. Blake was from a fairly well-off family."

"Hey," Tom stepped from the tapestry, his insides boiling with rage, barely contained by a confident smile he plastered on his face.

"Ah," the haughty-voiced man spoke. "Speak of the devil."

Tom gave him his most charming smile.

"Indeed. And you sir, are a big fucking bastard."

He reared his fist back and punched.

* * *

Will had ducked his head out of the librarian's sight and was searching for a book on Latin grammar.

He needed to know if he got that particular question right. Tom don't understand why Will cared so much about an answer, but it was a matter of full marks or no full marks. It was a gap, no matter how small it may seem.

Suddenly, the door of the library banged open, and a figure crashed through the aisles. 

Will sat straight up, thinking it was Tom by the frantic movement. 

But it was not Tom's figure who approached him. It was a taller boy. He was running hard, and was panting from the exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" Will asked.

The boy raised his head, and Will recognised him as Turner— Joseph Turner, he recalled— from the art faculty.

"Schofield?" He asked, still panting, "William Schofield?"

"Yes," Will answered, concerned.

"Your... friend... Blake... injured,"

And Will was on his feet at once.

"Where is he?" he asked sharply.

Turner gave him the address of a hospital in Chelmsford.

And Will was running, running for his goddamned life, pushing through students, teachers, running as fast as he could.

The world was tunneling, tighter until Will could only think of Tom.

_Tom, injured. Tom, hurt. Tom, lying motionless on a hospital bed._

The thoughts drove like an icy knife into his gut.

Will never believed in any god, but he prayed, still.

_Let him be okay. Let him be fine._

And he prayed, still, when he jumped on a cab, chanting in his head, hoping and wishing...

_Let him be unhurt. Let him be alive._

* * *

Tom awoke to the view of a white-washed ceiling.

He looked to his left, and to his surprise Will sat in a chair next to his bed, dozing off.

Tom tried to sat up, but his torso burned with pain when he moved.

He winced as he propped himself up a bit better. 

Will started from his sleep and for a moment looked confused. Then he saw Tom attempting to sit up. He sat up, eyes wide. 

"Don't move much," he said, but Tom didn't oblige.

For a moment they stare at each other. 

"You shouldn't have picked that fight," Will said first. 

"You didn't hear what they were saying about—" for a moment Tom almost said "you", but he backtracked. He didn't think Will would be more comforted if he told him that he picked the fight for him. "—about my family." Tom finished.

Will didn't seem to notice the hesitation. He was glaring intently at the window above Tom's bed.

"It was fine. I didn't take much damage—"

"It was fine?!" Will wheeled around at him, finally looking at him. His blue eyes were sharp and hard. "There were three men! They could've- could've-"

But Will didn't seem to be able to say the last two words. He only glared at Tom, jaw clenched.

Some part of Tom relished in the thought that Will had cared enough about him to rush to Chelmsford. But most part were still in pain and couldn't form a coherent thought.

"You are an idiot, Thomas Blake, starting up a fight. You could've shut your mouth, could've pretend not to hear. Putting yourself in danger, you were asking to be beat up—,"

"You sound like my mother now," Tom mumbled, but Will didn't seem to hear.

"—what would have I done? And thinking you were some sort of hero, you are a proper fool, Thomas Bl—,"

But Tom had grabbed his arm firmly. He looked in Will's blue eyes, and Will's words faltered.

"I am not a fool." Tom said firmly, even though pain welled in his head, "I picked that fight for a reason, and however foolish you think I am, I am not a fool."

Will looked like he wanted to say something, but eventually swallowed his words. He nodded, somehow resignedly. 

"I'm sorry," Will muttered. "I was- worried."

Usually Tom would have teased him, but Tom was in no state to speak more than five sentences. He only smiled, but it was not a teasing one, merely a comforted one.

"Can you stay?" he said, somehow deliriously. He felt sleep slowly encasing him, and he struggled to fight it. "Stay... for a minute... or..."

 _or more,_ he wanted to say, but sleep had finally gripped him, and was pulling him back to slumber....

but not before he heard Will whisper a word back....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a small easter egg in this chapter. do u know who joseph turner was referenced from? if you know i grant you a lot of (non-existent) points and maybe treat you to some 1917/ george/ dean content. if you know go and comment.
> 
> anyway ly guys im so tired now, updates coming soon.


	7. hoes mad (they're mad bc im going insane idk what chapter this should be called)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hmm.  
> what happens.  
> really idk i suck at writing summaries just read it bro.

William sometimes wondered why he was friends with Tom Blake.

Of all the idiots of the world, he was friends with the rashest, most self-assured, arrogant idiot. 

_Starting up a damn fight._

Will scowled as he thought of what would have happened if Tom had been beaten even more badly. Tom only took damage in a punch in the gut, a kick to the shins and a few scratches. He was told that the other guys in the fight fared worse. But still. 

Will made his way to the school library, arms laden with the food he had gotten from the faculty pantry just now. He had to help Tom with his meals since Tom was still recovering in the hospital. Tom had requested for alcohol but Will firmly refused. God knows what foolish antics he would do if drunk. Eventually Tom settled with the promise of a book and a game of cards for entertainment, but not before asking if he could have a billiards table built in next to his bed.

Will stepped in the library and scoured the shelves for a novel Tom could read without falling asleep with boredom. There were little choices available. Will wasn't entirely sure if Tom could concentrate for more than ten seconds to read a full novel. Will walked over to the fiction section and fingered a few titles. He was debating on whether Vernes or Haggard is more entertaining, when he heard some scuffling from the next aisle.

"Ouch, don't elbow me there, Bennett."

More scuffling.

"Damn that Blake," another voice said. "Coming after us with his fists like some kind of madman."

"You're just bitter that he got you right in your face."

"Shut up," the second voice snapped. "I could ruin his life with just a—" he snapped his fingers. "One call to the headmaster, another to the administration board. Thomas Blake no more."

The other men laughed.

"You'd reckon he was defending Schofield? He must've heard what we said about his family."

"Doesn't matter what he was mad about. Point is, he was angry enough to take us on for his boyfriend. Blake is too far gone, mingling with a bloody madman's son."

Colour rushed to Will's cheeks when he heard himself referred as Tom's boyfriend. 

He was too flustered to think until he realised _Tom had fought three men for his sake._

Emotions flooded Will. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or extremely pissed off. 

Will grabbed a book at random and stormed out of the library.

* * *

Will was still thinking about the conversation he overheard the next day.

Tom had just been released from the hospital, so they decided to go to a museum in Colchester for the day. Normally Will would have been engrossed in the details of the museum's displays, but he could not take his mind off what he heard. Tom was being himself, laughing at the morose looking statues and almost knocking off the helmet of a display of a Roman soldier. Will could only manage a feeble smile at Tom's impersonation of Gaius Caesar's stern expression.

"Something's on your mind, innit?" he asked as they walked under the setting sun back to their campus.

Will shrugged.

"C'mon," Tom grinned, "you could tell me."

Will stopped in his tracks. Tom turned around in front of him and stared at him, tilting his head and smiling.

"Why didn't you tell me you fought those three men because they were talking about me?"

Tom's smile faded.

"I thought you would be mad. And I thought right, didn't I?"

Will clenched his jaw.

"You didn't have to defend me."

"You didn't hear what they said."

"You can't go around brawling with anybody who provokes you."

Tom looked defiant. "It was the right thing to do."

"Walking away was the right thing to do!" Will didn't know he was shouting until he was glaring at Tom, "Not getting involved was the right thing to do!"

"They were bastards," Tom shouted back, "I couldn't just stand there and do nothing."

"You could, Tom," Will snarled. "You could've stood there and do nothing. It wouldn't kill you to stop getting involved every second."

"I wasn't getting—"

"You heard about my family then? Heard about my deranged family? Felt bad, didn't you? Pitied me, didn't you?"

"It wasn't like that at all—"

"Yes, it was like that. Thought it was on to you to serve justice? Defending me? Bullshit."

Tom's grey eyes blazed with anger, but he could only glare at Will.

"Don't pretend you know shit about me," Will snapped.

"I don't, Will. That's the problem," Tom said in a low voice. He wasn't angry now. He was staring at Will with an unreadable expression.

Will didn't say anything. 

He turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sad chapter i know.  
> things are going to get better.  
> i guess.  
> also im doing double update bc i feel bad about how i left it here so  
> (I LIED SORRY I SAID I WOULD DO A DOUBLE UPDATE BUT I CANT BC IM DYING FROM MY INSANITY IM SORRY GUYS)


	8. Glass and Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **tw//self-harm/suicidal thoughts **  
>  **this chapter has minor self-harm and suicidal contents. I put markers on where it appeared, so that you can skip those parts. **********
> 
> im so sorry for what i did in the last chapter  
> but  
> it was necessary  
> this is slow burn so bear with me.

There was nothing worse than Will being pissed off at Tom.

Tom thought he knew the extent of Will's fury. But nothing could have prepared him with the anger Will displayed.

For one, Will was ignoring him. He was invisible in Will's world, and he would not even glance at Tom. Even when they were in the same room, Will still does not acknowledge his existence. 

Tom, in turn, pretended that Will did not exist, though it was out of retaliation. He did not bother to convince Will to talk to him this time; there was no way Will was going to listen to him now. Tom was angry at first, about how Will had been so angry with him for no rational reasons. Will was a coward, Tom thought, being a friend and then refusing to open up to anyone, quickly putting up a fight when someone tried to talk to him. But slowly Tom's anger seeped into bitterness and resignation. He missed Will terribly, and with the loneliness that came with their falling out was Tom's return to the dancehalls and liquor shops. 

And the worst thing was, Will had not seemed to be bothered with their falling out. He was seen, multiple times, laughing merrily with other classmates, looking healthy and happy.

He also noticed, bitterly, that Will had started to spend more time with Joseph Turner, a student from the art faculty. They were spotted in the library, in deep conversation and constantly pouring over books, discussing about subject topics. Few times Tom wanted to pummel Turner _and_ Will. _Especially_ Will. Just like that, he was replaced. Without a single thought or consideration.

Tom became constantly bitter and surly. He gave up on education, remained intoxicated to an extent that teachers had to put him in detention after he upturned several tables and collapsed on the floor in a lesson. Will had not even glanced at him.

In the short periods of soberness, Tom hid in storage cupboards and dark corners of the school, staring at nothing and wishing, somehow, that something would pull him out of this god-forsaken madness.

And in those moments in the damp storage cupboards, Tom had never hated himself more. 

* * *

Tom stared at the ceiling of his dorm. 

It was almost noon now, and he was supposed to be at his lessons, but he couldn't be bothered.

He had spent yesterday drinking in dancehalls, then somehow ending up at a train station, standing in the middle of the tracks, staring as the train barreled at him. There were screams and shouts, but Tom could only stare dazedly at the train's headlights. Finally a man tackled him out of the way, as the train chugged by.

Tom only remembered flashes of what happened later, and woke up in his bed, still fully dressed, the stench of alcohol clinging to him. He sat up slowly as his head burned with pain. He blindly groped for the jug of water next to his bed and poured the water directly into his mouth, not bothering to use a glass, letting the water sloped over his face and collar.

When there was no more water Tom glanced around the dorm, blinking slowly while water dripped from his hair. Will's bed was empty, as usual, and neatly made, a contrast to Tom's extremely cluttered side of the room. 

Suddenly, anger spiked in him and he threw the empty jug at the opposite wall. The glass shattered, glass shards raining on Will's bed and the floor. A jagged piece landed in front of Tom. 

**tw// {marker: skip from here}**

Breathing deeply, Tom only stared at the piece of glass, his head swirling. Then, almost in a trance, he picked it up, carefully flipping it in his hand.

 _It's easy, isn't it?_ a voice taunted him **.** _Just one slice of the jagged end._

His hand drifted to his wrist, the jagged piece of glass on his skin. 

_Just... one... slice..._

He closed his eyes.

**tw// {marker: start here}**

Suddenly, the door opened. 

William Schofield stood in the doorway, blue eyes sharp as he took in the scene.

He rushed forward, grabbing Tom's wrist and pulling it away. Tom's grip on the piece of glass loosened, the glass dropping onto the wooden flooring.

" _What the hell were you doing_ ," Will's voice was unlike anything Tom had heard before.

Tom shook his hand away from Will's grip, not answering. He stood up, even though the pain from his hangover consumed his body, threatening to make him fall.

"Sit down," Will said roughly.

Tom still didn't answer. Warring emotions stormed his mind, and he wanted to pummel Will, hug him and cry at the same time. 

"What were you thinking?" Will said, voice somehow gentler. "You were standing in the middle of train tracks last night, and now you're—"

"Shut up," shouted Tom. 

His head swam with dizziness, but he ignored it.

"Don't start to care about me now, you bloody coward. You didn't fucking care about me before. Why should you now?" The pain in Tom's head increased, and he almost passed out from the pain.

Will's surprised face settled into a stony expression.

"You're right. I shouldn't care about you."

And with that, he stormed out of the dorm, slamming the door as he went.

Tom, too exhausted to do anything, collapsed into his bed and passed out.

* * *

Will stormed away from his dorm building, anger filling his veins.

He was overcome with so many emotions at once. He was so frightened when he saw Tom sitting on his bed, the piece of glass on his wrist. His fear of losing him won over his anger. Especially when Tom was brought to the dorm at 3 in the morning, drunk and passed out, by several faculty members. Then they told him that the idiot had gotten drunk and stood in the middle of some train tracks, waiting while the train headed at full speed at him. 

Will wanted to kill Tom for his drunken foolishness. He knew that Tom had been hit hard by their falling out, but he had no idea of the extent of it. He thought of what Tom had shouted at him. He was right; he was a coward. He had firmly ignored Tom for weeks, and refused to care about him. Will missed Tom dreadfully, though he would never admit it. He made friends with other students, but none of them were Tom. None of them were anything like Tom. 

Sometimes Will wondered whether he should stop being angry, and reconcile with Tom, but most times his pride got the better of him. He was constantly torn with this decision, and there were times when he spotted Tom across the campus lawn and had a sudden desire to run to him.

 _Coward,_ he thought. 

He passed the language campus and was going to walk through the classrooms when the faculty staff door opened. Professor Miller stood in the doorway, his keen eyes trained on Will.

"Mr. Schofield, do you mind if we share a word?"

"Er, no, not at all," Will said, taken aback.

Miller's office was exactly how Will would have imagined. Oak flooring with matching, tidy-looking oak furniture, bookshelves lined up on the walls. Miller sat down in his chair and regarded Will with a curious expression.

"Is this about my assessment? Because I'm sure I got the fifty-third question wrong," Will said, nervous.

"No, Mr Schofield, it's not about your assessment." Miller said kindly, "Do you mind if I call you William?"

Even more surprised, Will assented, "No, sir, not at all."

"William," Miller said, "I seemed to have noticed that you had a falling out with Thomas Blake, am I correct?"

Will's jaw clenched, but he nodded.

"Do you care to tell me what happened?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid it's between Tom and I."

Miller nodded. "I understand, of course.

"I hope, that whatever had happened, would soon be resolved. It is horrible to see you two treating each other as nothing more than strangers. In my opinion, real friends take more than a fight to break them. And I am sure, that you and Mr Blake are real friends."

Here, he paused, as though thinking over a matter.

"Mr Blake cares about you, William, and it is clear that he is lost without you, and you without him."

Will opened his mouth to protest, but Miller shook his head. 

"I saw your marks, William. They are not the same as when you were with Tom."

Will, surprised, didn't speak. It was true that his marks were slipping, but he never knew that it was noticeable, or that it would have been related to Tom.

"Let me be blunt here," Miller said, taking off his glasses and polishing them. "I know that there is something— special between you two. You care deeply about him, and he you. Am I correct?"

Will nodded slowly. He was confused about his feelings for Tom, and he never thought that anyone would know how he cared about Tom, much less Professor Miller.

Reading the expression on Will's face, Miller smiled. "I once had a- friend, and we cared about each other deeply. There were times when we would make fantasy about how we would live our lives together. They never came true, but I still remembered him dearly." His eyes wandered to the window, as though looking at somewhere far away.

A blink, and his eyes once again are focused on Will, the dreamlike quality gone.

"I urge you, a friendship like yours and Tom's is worth keeping." There was something urgent in his tone.

Will swallowed. He nodded. 

Miller smiled. "I'm sorry for interrupting your day. Go on your lessons now, and good day."

Will stood and made for the door, but stopped halfway.

"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, why are you so concerned about Tom and I?"

Miller paused for a second before answering.

"If you would like to know, I wish you keep it disclosed, even from Tom."

Will nodded.

Miller smiled, somehow sadly.

"Tom Blake's father was my dearest friend."

There was something in his eyes, the shadow of a young man who once loved his friend and wished to live a life with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes miller is a gay legend who was in love with tom's father.  
> i had inklings of miller's background and i never knew how to fit in his motivation to help scho and blake but then it fitted so perfectly. anyway this chapter was great to write, better than the last chapter.  
> ty guys for the support, updates coming soon. <3


	9. Daffodils Again and Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> glad to see you still care about this story to continuing reading it  
> lots of things happen  
> LOTS of things  
> LOTS and LOTS of things

Tom stumbled into his dorm, barely sober, a bottle of whiskey tucked under his coat.

He had spent yesterday in a dancehall, which one he couldn't recall, and woke up with several velvet garments discarded next to him, a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hands. He somehow had managed to make his way back to his school campus, half-drunk, receiving numerous dirty looks from his teachers and schoolmates alike.

He took a glance at his dorm and was not surprised at all that it was empty. Well, Tom's thoughts were swimming around unsteadily, so he could only make out the empty place and a few incoherent thoughts.

Kicking an empty bottle out of the way, he collapsed on his bed, grunting as he poured the whiskey down his throat, barely registering the burn of the liquor.

His view blurred and moved in and out of focus, and in his slurred state he distinctly saw an image of Will, smiling at him, mouthing silent words, blue eyes twinkling. 

He smiled sloppily back at the image of Will, and reached out a hand to him.

* * *

Tom woke up, this time with a burning headache. 

He was sprawled on his bed, fully dressed, an empty bottle of alcohol beside him. 

He faintly remembered collapsing on his bed, and a weird hallucination of Will.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face and found a glass of water on his side table. Quickly downing it, he breathed for a few moments to find his bearings. He set down his glass on the table, before noticing a folded piece of paper on the table, apparently sitting underneath the glass of water.

Unfolding it, he found a few lines of words scribbled in Will's slanting handwriting.

_the lake_

_near daffodils_

* * *

Will stared at the rippling surface of the lake, squinting as the sunlight reflected on the water surface. He wondered if Tom could sober up enough to get here.

Then, a shadow fell across Will, and a rustling sounded from above him.

Tom sat down next to him, his grey eyes squinted, brown hair falling across his forehead.

"You came," Will breathed.

Tom glanced at him for a fleeting moment, a half smile on his lips. 

'' 'Course I came," he said softly.

"I didn't think you would be sober enough to see me,"

"I'm always sober when it comes to you," he said, his eyes not quite meeting Will's.

Will blushed, and he hoped it wasn't clear in the blinding sunlight. 

"You were right, I am a coward. And I'm extremely sorry. And it's not fair to you, for being shut out by me like that. You deserve to know, so I'll tell you— everything." Will looked over at the lake, the daffodils waving serenely and lazily.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Tom said, seeming to be more lucid now.

"I want to," Will said firmly. 

Tom nodded, eyes squinting as he stared at the sun's reflection in the lake. 

"But I want to apologize first," he said, voice softer than anything. "I was reckless, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. And I'm sorry for shouting at you."

Will nodded, and for a moment they stared at the lake, not speaking, the space between suddenly taut.

Then, carefully, Will told him everything. From when he was a child, when his father would disappear in his study for months, then barely acknowledge his family when he finally came out. How he would hide under his bed when his parents quarrel, sometimes resulting in sobs and shouts. And how, finally, one day, he found his mother hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen, lifeless, eyes dull. Will's voice cracked, and Tom tried to stop him, but Will wanted to tell him everything. So he ploughed on, talking about his estranged father, his quiet childhood spent, loveless and motherless, in the nooks of his home, reading and never talking to his mad father. And how he longed to get away to college, where he could escape that dreary, lifeless house full of death. 

When he finished, he didn't dare look at Tom; he was afraid he would somehow break under the grey-eyed glance.

Then after moments of silence, Tom started talking. His voice was quiet and pensive, a daffodil rolled between his fingers.

He talked about his father, how he'd always seemed to expect so much of Tom, and how Tom would always fall under his expectations, and how desperately Tom tried to win his father's love when he was small, then finally giving up when he grew older, eventually being the opposite of what his father wanted him to be. He spoke of his constant yearning for approval from his father, his childish hope that one day his father would love him and treasure him more than anything. He talked about how his mother pampered him, but never took his interests at heart, treating him like a child. He admitted to his dream to travel the world, to see outside of the sheltered life he had.

Will had half a heart to tell him the reason that his father didn't love him as much as he should was because he yearned for a different life with a different man, but he had swore Professor Miller that he would not tell the secret to anyone, so he firmly kept his mouth shut.

When Tom finished, he glanced at Will for the first time, an almost shy smile on his face.

And in that moment, when the sunlight streamed on his face, and lightened the locks on his forehead, casting light on those grey eyes, Will had never felt more at home.

* * *

They sat under the sun, speaking softly about their dreams and fears, everything and nothing, sometimes letting silence blanket over them comfortably. 

When the sun was hovering over the horizon, the sky a dusting of gold and orange, Tom looked at Will, and saw a smile playing on his companion's face. 

A desire to reach over and touch him overwhelmed him. He quickly looked away, hoping that the thoughts would dissipate, but it seemed to hang clear in front of him, the waving grasses taunting him tantalizingly.

After a few moments of silence, Tom turned and glanced at Will, the sunlight streaming through his hair and his blue eyes clear in the dusk light. At the same time Will turned his head to him too, and their heads were merely inches apart, the summer air heavy between them. Tom froze, suddenly forgetting how to move. Will seemed unable to glance directly at Tom, and his gaze flitted on the daffodils surrounding them. Tom wanted, desperately, to touch him, just a whisper of a touch... and his fingers were on Will's cheeks, brushing against the brown locks falling over his cheekbones.

Will glanced up, surprised, and could only stare at Tom, blue eyes startling, the fading sun reflected on those pools of blue, a dreamlike essence captured in those eyes. Tom was drunk, drunk under his gaze, and he seemed to drown in those eyes...

Before Tom could do anything, before he could pull himself from that drunkenness that is his glance, Will leaned forward, and then his lips were on Tom's.

For a moment Tom could only freeze, shocked, then his self-resolve disappeared, and he was kissing him back, tasting those lips he had dreamt for so long, feeling Will's hand threading through his hair, and there were truly nothing, nothing in this world that could describe this feeling of elation, this beautiful and terrible reality that seemed so like a dream...

Will pulled away, quite suddenly, and Tom felt a sudden feeling of falling, as though an anchor had left him. Will stared at him, his eyes beautifully tranquil, and his mouth parted, as though to say something, but Tom didn't want to hear, and promptly pulled him back to him, and then they were both drunk on the taste of the kiss, their hands curled around each other, slowly and simply savouring...

* * *

Their kisses continued on their walk back to the campus, walking instead of hailing down a cab, 

They stumbled, laughed, hands intertwined, eyes on each other, their kisses a secret, a secret that seemed so unreal.

The sun was slowly setting, a golden shine resting on everything in sight, brushing everything into a soft and ethereal glow.

They spotted a lone tree full of pale pink flowers, looking like little stars from a distance. Tom detached away from Will to look closer at the flowers, and Will followed behind.

Tom's fingers caressed the petals of the flowers. "Cherry blossoms," he said softly, as he caught a falling blossom into his palm.

He turned, smiling at Will, and Will gasped softly. The golden light fell across his face, basking his features. His grey eyes seemed to reflect the golden sunlight, and seemed like molten metal. There was something simply ethereal, something so other-worldly, in the sight of him.

The sunshine adores him, Will thought, the sunshine simply and purely adores him like a lover would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY FINALLY KISSED YES.  
> I was so excited writing this and i hoped it was soft enough haha.  
> it was hard writing this but very delightful  
> there are still chapters to come, don't leave now!!  
> (also did u catch the reference of the cherry blossoms?)  
> anyway ly guys <3!!


	10. what happened in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this  
> is  
> the  
> last  
> chapter  
> dont  
> be  
> sad  
> ily guys

Their last days in college were spent with ease, the lazy summer air an accomplice in their hours of lounging on the bank of the lake, kisses stolen in the corners of the school, and there were truly nothing better than those moments. 

Will graduated with top marks, and there were numerous job recommendations from his teachers, but he declined them politely, keeping his future a secret.

Tom graduated too, though without top marks, but with satisfactory marks that he eventually had the courage to sent to his father. 

There was something unreal, about stepping out their college for the last time, knowing that they would never return as students again.

"Where will you go now?" Will asked, their eyes both on the retreating facade of their college. 

Tom flashed an amused smile.

"I told you that you would be stuck with me when we first met, didn't I?" he smiled at Will's flushed face.

He drew him close and grinned.

"I'm going where you're going."

* * *

Thomas Blake eventually went on the voyage he'd dreamt of, travelling all around Europe for half a year, seeing the most fascinating things all around the world, alongside William Schofield. 

They later settled in a small house in the outskirts of Colchester, near a lake and a field of daffodils. William Schofield became a teacher in a nearby schoolhouse, which he devoted himself to teaching the children until his retirement. Thomas Blake dabbled in different forms of business, before finding himself an interest in plants, and hence opening a floral shop, which he ran successfully for over 60 years.

Thomas Blake reconciled with his father, and though they could never have a normal father-son relationship, they were friends, and to his mother's delight, Thomas would bring the most beautiful flowers to his parents every week or two.

William Schofield never talked to his father again, because his father had died soon after he graduated. But to this day there were still flowers on his father and mother's grave.

Most of all, Thomas Blake and William Schofield loved each other, and lived their lives together till their dying days.

...

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

...

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello my dear readers  
> it's the end of this story!  
> it's been an amazing experience writing this, and i'm so glad you enjoyed it!  
> please, if you want to tell me something (whether it's something i should improve on/ things you liked/ things you want to talk about) don't hesitate to comment!  
> also, most importantly,  
> you have to watch dean charles chapman dance and sing in his Billy Elliot performance.  
> here's the link. thank me later.  
> anyway i just want to say thank you, and that ily guys!!! <3  
> (p.s. there might be some bonus content so...)


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